Rings that Bind
by Iris Green1
Summary: Sequel to "Strangers in Lothlorien". Legolas is haunted by dreams of Haldir, Aragorn seeks to help. Is it betrayal? Slash: L/H and L/A


Pairing: Legolas/Aragorn, Legolas/Haldir Disclaimer: Everything connected to Middle-earth is owned by the Tolkien Estate. I do admit to stealing the idea of "naught but shadow and flame" from the musical "Man of La Mancha". Archive: Feel free to archive/post/whatever, just please drop me a note with a link. Thanks. Notes: This one was kind of weird. I hadn't intended on writing a sequel to "Strangers", but this one would not let me go. I apologize for the fact that this story makes no sense, but think of it as a work in technique. If I've skewered any timeline facts, please report them.  
  
His smile still haunts me. I think it always shall. So many have mistaken the glint in his eye for arrogance, but that was merely his façade, his other being. The Haldir I knew was warm and tender, yet far from feminine. It is a funny thing, how I cannot recall him being upset or disgruntled for long periods of time. We had our fights over trivial matters, but what were they of? The memories of Elves are legendary, yet I have found the power to forget those horrendous moments. I desire nothing more than to relive them, for they are gone, lost, never again mine.  
  
What were the last words he whispered in my ear? "Return to me alive." How ironic. How long had it been since I had told him I loved him? I never so much as uttered those words when we were in Lothlòrien. I bestowed upon him the ring that I had clung to so desperately for so many years, but never mentioned how I was numb without him.  
  
"You are dying, Legolas," Estel - Aragorn, now Elessar, I should say - told me one autumn day near the end of the beginning of his reign. I was in his throne room, staring despondently out towards the Sea. Aragorn's warm brown eyes were compassionate, an emotion I had seen worn so often on another face. "What tears at you?"  
  
I shut my eyes, but in the darkness, Galadriel's form shone brightly. I forced myself back into the present.  
  
"You could not understand," I murmured, watching the gulls circle above the blue-green waves. They called to me, whispering sweet nothings of my kin in the Grey Havens, asking for me to join with them. I could not abandon these forsaken lands, not whilst there was work to be done in restoring Ithilien. I glanced down at my left hand, where the gold ring seemed to mock me, taunting me with its pure, unspoiled beauty.  
  
"You often look to the ring you wear," Aragorn said. "It cannot hold the answers you seek."  
  
"I was unaware that I had voiced a question," I replied, folding my arms across my chest. The King of Men moved behind me, the musty scent of leather and herbs emanating strongly from his body. I felt strangely comforted by his concern.  
  
"Perhaps not aloud," he murmured in my ear. "But it is there, nonetheless. Unburden your mind to me."  
  
I turned and stared deep into those endless brown orbs. Aragorn was not beautiful. He did not have long, flowing golden hair or pale skin. He had grace, but it was crude and unrefined.  
  
"He is gone," I said simply, sadly, searching Aragorn's face for understanding.  
  
"Who?"  
  
I swallowed. Who? Did he not see the ring? "The Guardian of Lothlòrien," I said, fingering the ring, that vile piece of metal that would never give me a moment of peace in this world filled with too many memories.  
  
One of Aragorn's hands came up to brush a stray lock of hair behind my ear. "You wear his jewelry."  
  
The comment was so obvious, it burned. "He was never alive to see me receive it. I wear it out of deference to the dead." Could I have sounded more aloof or stoic? I think not. Detachment was the only way I could continue my existence.  
  
I had admitted the worst aloud. Whatever denial I had been holding was gone, the barrier of my soul broken down and strewn about my personage in tiny shards that were beginning to lose their glimmer and spark.  
  
Aragorn's hand lingered above my face, tracing invisible lines around my eyes and forehead. It felt right to release myself, shut my eyes for one long blink, and fall forward. In my mind, I saw Haldir, resplendent in his green and gold tunic, his callused hands delicately braiding my hair. I saw him lean forward, his breath warm upon the nape of my neck, teasing the sensitive nerves of the back of my head. "Return to me alive," he murmured to me. I tried to reach out and grab him, to reassure him that I would never leave his embrace, but he was naught but shadow and flame. The ghost of Haldir slowly turned into the reality of Aragorn, the quiet, confident King. I wanted to scream, to grasp onto the former image. Instead, Aragorn's thin mouth - so different from the plush lips I was used to kissing - opened. "Return to me alive," He Who Was Not Haldir said.  
  
My eyes snapped open, and to my horror, I found myself halfway in Aragorn's arms. My mind screamed to push away, to pull back, to stop this insanity. His lips found mine, and I was lost to the memories that haunted my dreams. While Aragorn kissed me, his tongue pushing into the back of my throat, I saw Haldir sitting in bed, his nakedness covered by the thin sheets we used, an annoyed expression on his face.  
  
"Legolas," he had groaned, stretching luxuriously, his muscles rippling. "Has there been a day when I have not woken up to see you polishing your knives?"  
  
If my memory can serve me correctly - and I am having doubts on this fact - I had smiled coyly and lain down my weapons, walking over to my lover and laying myself beside him. His face instantly lost its annoyed expression as I traced his cheekbone with my tongue, and one of his arms had come to cover and hold me close to his body. I remember that he tasted of sweet honey, and that I had kissed him eagerly, uncaring that a new day was dawning and that work was still required out of the both of us.  
  
.And Aragorn was moving his own warm hands up my tunic, rubbing smoothly against my abdomen. He smelled too strongly of smoke, but my eyes would not water the way a mortal's eyes should have. My knees began to buckle as he toyed with a nipple, his mouth latched onto my throat. Abruptly, he stopped his ministrations. In the back of my mind, I saw Haldir dressing for another patrol, slapping on his gauntlets with practiced ease, giving me a sly wink as we set out together through the pathways in the trees of Lothlòrien.  
  
"We should move this to my quarters," Aragorn whispered, withdrawing his hands from my chest. I felt myself moan, though not of my own volition.  
  
"Why are you doing this?" I asked, relying on the larger Man to support me up the flights of stairs to his chambers.  
  
"I would not see you in pain, my friend," he replied, gently guiding me by my right hand. I could not protest the follies that friendship requires, but he was not Haldir.  
  
He was not Haldir. He was not my lover. He had no right to touch me the way he touched Arwen. He had no justifiable reason to kiss me. Kisses are sacred, binding ties - he was throwing them away on one who was bound to a lifeless corpse. My feet continued to move up the steps - I had lost count what seemed hours ago - to the one place I never imagined myself being.  
  
With gentleness, Aragorn laid me down upon his bed and proceeded to divest me of my clothing. His touch was tender, but it was a touch based on the love of friendship, not the kind of soul-searing love that would last throughout all the Ages of the world. All I could see was Haldir's smile on Aragorn's face, Aragorn's voice murmuring the words that only my Elf lover had ever uttered. It was all so wrong. I was betraying my heart. And yet, every nerve in my being screamed that this was right, to be held and kissed and made love to.  
  
After our excursions, the Man fell into a deep slumber, his arm wrapped around me, holding me close to his body. I could not find solace in sleep, not now. History would always remember me as Legolas the Whore, who gave up his vow of chastity and his oath to remain loyal to a certain Guardian in favor for a night of not being lonely. I thought I could see Haldir sitting in a corner, his sapphire eyes intensely sorrowful.  
  
"Legolas," the image of Haldir said, frown lines creasing his face. "Why, Legolas? Do you not love me? Am I so easily replaced and forgotten?"  
  
I would have spoken to the apparition if a lump had not been lying in my throat. I tried to shake my head, but I could not move. Perhaps, if I wished hard enough, this Haldir would suddenly become flesh and blood and whisk me away from this nightmare.  
  
"I would not have sold myself had you died on the road to Orodruin," spoke the shadow. "I would have remained faithful."  
  
I am not an adulterer, my mind screamed. I am sorry, Haldir, I am so sorry, I did not mean, how did this happen, I am sorry, I am sorry, I am sorry -  
  
The ghost smiled, but its eyes were haunted. "How could you so quickly forget the ring you bear? Shall you search for a smoldering mountain to destroy it, as Frodo destroyed the ring that bound him to his fate?"  
  
I glanced down at my left hand. The golden metal shone dully in the moonlight, having lost all radiance and beauty to me. More than ever, it mocked me, told me that I had broken everything that it was meant to represent. I knew what the inscription on it read: "Legolas and Haldir. Forever." It was now a lie, an oath that I had forsaken.  
  
"I love you," I croaked to the apparition.  
  
"I know," it said and rose with the same powerful grace that I remembered so well in the Guardian. It crossed to me and touched my forehead lightly, then back away and vanished into the darkness.  
  
Aragorn stirred. "Hmmm?"  
  
My body immediately tensed. "Sleep in peace," I murmured back, not turning to face the Man whose bed I shared. More than ever, I was alone, stranded on these shores. Aragorn thought he had done me a service, but he had alienated me from the most important aspect of my life: the dream that once was Haldir.  
  
I left his chambers at dawn, shaken, but outwardly calm. The more I thought of the previous night, the more I realized how the shadow had been but a fraud. The real Haldir would not have debased me, nor would he have considered himself betrayed. This brought me little solace. When I stepped outside, the ring I wore caught the first brilliant rays of sunlight and twinkled, yet I could not bring myself to love it. In time, I ceased to think about that band of gold, focusing more on the memories that it returned to me.  
  
Aragorn did not attempt to comfort me again. I did not want him to, for the ghost of Haldir watched me from every dark corner, and no light could seek to illuminate its eyes. It was merely a demon of my own imagining, and yet, it kept me faithful to the one I loved so dearly. It did not approach me again until I departed for the Sea. It never gave me its forgiveness, only a distant, puzzled smile. 


End file.
